
Class 



Book 



IBal 



Author. 



Title. 



Imprint 



16—30299-1 GPO 









(Ctrucation: 



AN 



ADDRESS 



DELIVERED BEFORE 



THE LTNN^AN ASSOCIATION 



OF 



PENNSYLVANIA COLLEGE 



GETTYSBURG, APRIL 18TH, 1853. 



BY A. WEBSTER, D.B. 

Of Baltimore, Md. 



•^'f^^^^WM-^*^-*^^"—- 



GETTYSBURG : 

PRINTED BY H. C. N E I N S T K D T 

1853. 



iS5itcati0n: 



AN 



ADDRESS 



DELIVERED BEFORE 



THE LTNN^AN ASSOCIATION 



OP 



PENNSYLVANIA COLLEGE, 



GETTYSBURG, APRIL 18TH, 1853. 



r 



BY A. WEBSTER, D.D. 

Of Ealtiiaore, Mil. 



I <^|#i/\/>/rf*rtM'«-='«'*» 



GETTYSBURG : 

PRINTED BY H. C. NEINSTEDT 
1853. 






In exchange 

Peabody Institute 

Baltimore 

AUG 2 V 1928 






Pennsylvania College^ 

April 18th, 1S53. 

Dear Sia: 

The LinnEBan Association of Pennsylvania College acknowledges 
its indebtedness to you for the acceptable address you, this evening, kindly 
delivered and has authorized me to request the manuscript for publication. 

With sincere regard, 
Your friend, 

M. L. STOEVER, 

Pres,' Linn. ^ss. 
Rev. Da. Webster. 



Gettysburg, April 19th, 1853. 

Dear Sir : 

The manuscript, referred to in your kind note, is at your disposal. 
Very truly yours, &c., 

A. WEBSTER. 
Professor Stoever. 



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ADDRESS 



Gentlemen vf the hinncEan Association ; 
Gentlemen of the Faculty ; 

Gentlemen and Ladies of the Auditoiy : 

The subject to come before us is, " One of the phases of 
Education:" and I trust that it will not appear immodest in 
me, to have brought any such question, for your consideration, 
into a presence like this, where I expected, of course, to see 
those, whose wisdom and experience in Education are so 
extensively known. 

As to the particular phase of the subject to be exhibited, I 
shall not now, be very explicit. My moon is yet below the 
horizon ; you must be contented, if you please, with a kind 
of crepuscular light, for awhile, and at her rising, you will 
at once see for yourselves. Of course, you will not expect 
SM7z-light ; only a mild and gentle radiance is possible to my 
humble orb. Yet I will try to have her shine from a clear 
sky, hoping to keep away all clouds, from before her modest 
disc, and shall expect you to prevent, if you can, all dreamy 
exhalations, down there, from rising and spreading over those 
rich mental valleys, where I would have my moonbeams to 
gleam, and mingle with the flowers of your thoughts. 

Education is a. work. Let us look at the condition of the 
materials, with which the task is ta.be performed. I do not 
mean the tools, the instrumentalities ; but the materials. 

Accustomed, for years, to look at objects by the lights of 
Revelation, History and facts; I have no very high opinion of 
the condition of Humanity. Its constitution is beyond all 
praise, but its condition is worthy of all possible censure. 



6 

Tlie idea prevails, that this present, is the age of progress : 
and that the eld fogy people and notions are to be pushed 
off, out of sight, by the sprightly, active, dare-every-thing 
Young Spirit of the day. Hence, we have Young England 
—Young Ireland — Young America, and, within the realm of 
Theology, Young Humanity. I leave all these young Moods 
to the politicians, except the last. With him I will hold 
controversy, and charge him with the same base condition, as 
that proved against Old Humanity. I am no more the ad- 
miter of the one, than -of the other, and have capital offences 
to allege against them both. 

In uttering such sentiments, I am aware that I run full 
against (hat pride, which is so natural to us all. There is no- 
thing to which we are more prone, than pride. It grows in 
and spreads through our hearts, like certain ill weeds, which 
mock the complaints and toils of the farmer, who labors in 
vain to exterminate them from his fields. And yet, in the 
whole universe, there is nothing more ridiculous, than a proud 
man; for in that universe, there is no other being so needy 
and dependent, so encompassed with frightful perils. 

Observe the condition of his infancy. Is there any known 
being so dependent? He is without instinct; and has, as yet, 
no use of his reason. He cannot obtain a particle of nourish- 
ment, nor even change his position, without aid. Unassisted, 
a few hours would terminate his feeble, helpless existence. 
He is not to be compared with the young animal of any other 
species. The colt, the calf, the very puppy, all outstrip him ; 
in the fact, that not one of these is so dependent. The colt 
kicks up his heels, in his wild sports; and runs his mimic 
race, before the infant knows that he has any heels to kick or 
run with. The puppy acts the sentinel at the door, and threat- 
ens the stranger with his teeth, before such an idea as door or 
stranger has entered the infant's head; and before the careful 
nurse has let go the infant's hand, that same puppy is hunting 
game in the field, running the fox into his burrow, or playing 
the dog in some other way, for the amusement or profit of liis 
master. 



It might be thought — were we to think as superficially as 
multitudes do — that, although man, in his infancy, is so de- 
pendent, yet, with every succeeding year, he would advance 
toward m-dependence, and that this would begin to be quite 
evident, in the season of his youth. 

But, how far from this is the case? It is clear that his 
wants have now multiplied most rapidly. He needs more 
food, more clothing, more help in his education. The simple 
food of his infancy, as also his apparel, playthings, books, ev- 
ery thing, must be on a larger scale of quality and iexpense, 
and all these must be supplied to him — he cannot obtain them 
for himself. Every year, his need and his perils increase, and 
though he may put on airs, and imagine himself less depend- 
ent, he is really more so, and feels within him the cravings 
of a nature, that urges him into society, as though it were not 
only essential to his comfort, but to his very existence. 

Time flies. He is a man. His nature is matured. He 
needs a wife, a home, and some openings of business ; and, 
no matter how proud he is, he depends upon the smile of his 
lady-love so entirely, that, to take his own word for it, it is 
impossible for him ever to be happy without it ; and indeed, 
it may be, that not only will such bitter despair fix him, " like 
patience on a monument," but will soon, alas, put him under 
one ; to be visited and sighed at by all who have hearts to 
feel for an unhappy lover, shot to death by the unkind glances 
of two black eyes ! However, he does not die, as he expect- 
ed ; and, — after awhile — and, perhaps, not a verygxQsX while, 
he finds some kinder fair, who does smile ; and after the usu- 
al extraordinary occurrences, of finding out, that he never did 
love till now, the writing of beautiful epistles, glowing with 
love and the choicest adjectives, he steps into the participle of 
the perfect — he is married. 

In the meantime, he has been attentive to the Tnaterial : 
for although his heart assured him, that to possess the hand of 
his divine Angelina, was all that was necessary, to make him 
happy, common sense, and other good advisers, who, perhaps, 
had some experience in the case, assured him that the ivhere- 



8 

withal is a very important item in housekeeping. But, to get 
this the smile of the Great Public is essential, and he is very 
dependent upon that. So, he "boos, and boos, and boos," as 
the worthy Scotchman did ; and he advertises that he " has 
the pleasure to inform the public ;" — or he " has the happi- 
ness to inform the public ;" — or, indeed, he " has the honor 
to inform the public — that — he is — of course — the public's 
most humble and obedient servant ! And, therefore, as in 
duty bound, he will do the public's work cheaper, physic the 
public better, litigate for the public more pertinaciously, legis- 
late for the public more intricately, govern the public more re- 
publicanly, than any other man living; and, in fact, that ever 
did live, or can live ! 

Well, the public smiles, the lady smiles, and he and the la- 
dy are now snugly domiciled in a comfortable home. What 
have I to say now ? He is like the flowing river, that allows 
of no obstacle to its progress ; swelling proudly over every 
presumptuous dam, and roaring its haughty defiance, as it tri- 
umphantly passes on in its lordly way. Where is his depend- 
ence now? 

Be not deceived. The fliowing river owes its triumphant 
force, and scornful foam, to many an humble spring; which 
though left far behind, and out of sight, are yet so essential, 
that were they to shrink back into their quiet retreats, they 
would leave the boastful river, without one drop of water in 
its channel. It is dependent upon them for its very existence. 

So with our proud man, now in his palmiest days. He is 
dependent upon wife and servants at home; and upon neigh- 
bors and fellow-citizens abroad. The springs of his strength 
and pride are multitudinous ; and some of them also are hum- 
ble enough, too; even cats, dogs, horses, cows, sheep, chick- 
ens, turkeys, hogs, fish and oysters. Then in a higher cate- 
gory, farmers, millers, carpenters, brickmakers, bricklayers, 
plasterers, painters, schoolmasters, shipbuilders, sailors, sail- 
makers, ropemakers, butchers, tailors, hatters, shoemakers, bar- 
bers, tobacconists, mantua-makers, milliners, and everybody 
and everything, everywhere. It takes earth, sea, air, sun, 



9 

moon, and stars, to supply his countless and urgent necessities. 
In fact, should our hero fall in with one of the bones of Don 
Quixote's horse, I am not sure but that he ought to take off 
his hat, and bow as low as the candidate does to a suffragan : 
for he needs even that old bone, to make a little more wheat, 
to make a little more bread, to put a little more flesh upon his 
own bones, which are equal to any horse-leeches, or even to 
the beggars of happy Italy, in their cries for perpetual contri- 
butions. 

Age comes on. And now that he is grown old and feeble, 
his dependence is the only thing, that does not wear out. His 
wife dies; his children leave home and set up for themselves ; 
his limbs fail ; so his teeth, his ears, his eyes. Poor old man ! 
he is the very personification of dependence. He gasps; he 
dies; who shall bury him? He cannot crawl into his grave. 
Some one must make him a shroud ; some one a coffin ; must 
dig him a grave, put him down into it, and cover him up; put 
a stone there, to keep his memor}^ alive awhile. He is de- 
pendent to the last ; and when society turns its ear from his 
plea, both his name and memory perish ! 

Why, then, should man be proud? Pride is indicative of 
a feeble mind, or of gross carelessness of inquiry into the facts 
of human condition. That condition is marred, humiliating, 
base. Man is undergoing a punitive process. He is in a pen- 
itentiary. Pardon and extrication are the summit of his just 
hopes. 

To represent the earth as a Lunatic Asylum, and ourselves 
as lunatics, would be gross flattery. We are not unfortunate, 
but wicked. We are offenders against the wisest, the best of 
all laws, and are convicts; justly condemned for our crimes. 

But, even aside from this. Is a man proud of his personal 
beauty, his great strength, his excellent constitution ? Pray, 
what merit does he derive from all that? Is he his own Cre- 
ator? Is he proud of the high character of his intellect? — 
And, indeed, did he construct it thus, that he arrogates to him- 
self the praise? What has he, that was not given unto him? 
2 



10 

AH his possessions are the alms of heaven; or the mean wages 
he has earned in the base diudgety of Satan. 

I freely admit, that a proper observation discloses the fact, 
that man's position was designed to excel that of any other 
terrestrial being. Holy Scripture assures us of this. When 
the earth had been arranged, and the other orders of animals 
created, then man was brought in, to have dominion over all; 
as the vicegerent of God ; as the divinely appointed monarch 
of this terrene province. 

Ovid, the best and the worst of the Latin poets, as I think, 
intermixing heathen mythology with the Mosaic history, dis- 
plays this point of human superiority and sovereignty: 

Sanctius Ms animal, mentisque capacius unmn, 
JDeerat adhuc, et quod dominari in catera posset. 
Natus homo est. 

* * * in effigiem moderantum cuncia Deorum : 
Pronaque cum spectent animalia ccetera terram, 
Os homini sublime dedit, ccelumque videre 
Jussit, et erectos ad sidera tollere vultus. 

But, the glory has departed. Somehow, man has descended 
from his original grandeur, and is now a frail being, in the 
midst of numerous and alarming perils ; his body so suscepti- 
ble of the diseases which are ever lurking near, concealed in 
sunshine and vapor, heat and cold, in his food and drink, at 
home, abroad, in the academy, in the college, in his shop, in 
his counting-room, in his office, in the senate chamber, in the 
very temple where he worships; his mind alike susceptible of 
errors, as numerous and as insidious as the diseases referred to, 
and which errors watch for him everywhere, to injure his in- 
tellect, pollute his heart, and disgrace his life; while death 
ever pursues him with his brandished dart, the grave ever 
yawning in his path, and hell ever longing for his utter de- 
struction. 

To be sure, other animals are in danger. The hawk swoops 
upon the poor partridge, and the victim perishes. But, then, 
its sufferings terminate. Not so, when vice swoops upon man ; 
that wretched victim finds no relief from death ; the talons 



11 

still clutch into the writhing soul, and the cruel beak leaF^ 
among its nerves forever ! 

The mystery is great. It can only be explained upon the 
hypothesis, that "the glory has departed !" Ichabod! Ich- 
ABOD ! That is the true doctrine. 

Frail, mortal, erring, dying man, cannot be the original de- 
sign of God. It is absurd, to suppose that the Creator would 
have produced the present state of things. Creation here — 
whatever it may be among the glorious, everlasting stars, mov- 
ing in purity and silence along their solemn paths — is running 
down ; everything tends downward ; and though, all around 
us, we see the great struggle of nature to rise, and adorn her- 
self with beauty and fragrance ; her success, no matter how 
frequently the effort is renewed, is but for a season. Down, 
down to decay, corruption and dust, comes every fruit, every 
flower, every blossom, every bud, every leaf, every tree; and 
the very root dies and disappears. 

Man, also, has come down, in common with the rest. What 
we see, are the traces of his pristine greatness ; the sad indices 
of a mournful history. History is an old man, with a bald 
head, a long beard, without teeth, articulating badly, telling 
dry, prosy old stories, that put us to sleep, and we learn noth- 
ing. We awake, and amuse ourselves with things as they 
are. Is it not unaccountable, that the Ancients should have 
numbered this old fellow with the celestial nine, mistaking 
him for a gay and interesting lady? It is probable that they 
had no Eugene Sue, et id 07nne, in those days; and, so, for 
lack of something better, were glad to get their hands upon 
useful literature. Though, as I confess, there is reason to fear 
that Old Humanity had nothing to boast of in this particular. 
The very first words, in the Preface to Livy's History, give 
strong testimony against his cotemporaries, upon this very 
point : Facturusne opercB pretium sim, si a primordio 
Urbis res populi Romani perscripserim, nee satis scio, nee, si 
sciam, dicere ausim. Quippe qui quwm veterem turn vulga- 
tam esse rem videam, dumnovi semper scriptores aut in re- 
bus ceriius aliquid allaturos se, aut scribendi arte rudem ve- 



n 

tustatem superaturos credunt. It must be admitted, too, 
that his hints relative to what he regarded to be "ancient his- 
tory," that written — ante conditam condendainve urbem — are 
not very complimentary to Clio herself: for while he styles 
those narratives — decora— he describes them as "poetic fables," 
rather than well authenticated memorabilia. It may be, that 
the divine Clio was about as fictitious a writer as the undivine 
Sue ; as popular, and as worthless. 

^ The soul, with its wonderful attributes, is encompassed with 
a body of corresponding faculties, to hold intercourse, through 
the material universe, with God. So, two human beings com- 
mune ; each has his body, and yet soul communes with soul. 
Though I would not speak of the Deity, as being the Soul of 
the universe ; fie is more ; He is the Creator and Upholder 
of all. 

The structure of the body is so marvellous, that nothing is 
left for us to desire, but the consummation of its plan. What 
would we have substituted for its strong, but light and porta- 
ble bony foundation? For its curiously contrived muscles, so 
conveniently overlaid, filled with such sensitive, but durable 
nerves, with such an effiicient system of blood vessels, and 
all so well covered over, and so beautifully adorned? Such a 
provision for its sustenance, occasioning so much pleasure ! — 
And, finally, such an adaptation of its capacity to the need of 
the true man within, the sentient, perceiving, thinking, choos- 
ing, willing soul ; that it may well be the great model for the 
study of the architect and politician! Let the former put 
over our heads as convenient a house, and the latter furnish us 
with a similar body politic, and they will leave nothing, on 
our part, to be desired. The Sir Christopher Wrens, and So- 
lons, will be forgotten. 

Yes, the Creator's design was worthy of his glorious attri- 
butes, his love, wisdom, and power. "As for God," exclaims 
David, "his way is perfect." It was so, indeed, in his scheme 
of humanity. After the most rigorous scrutiny of the soul, 
and the body, their constituents and union, we see that all, 



n 

that is left us to desire, is, that the plan be in perfect cotiditton, 
and in perfect plmj. 

The soul was to be the Royal City of hnman nature, and 
every preparation was made for its being built up into a place 
worthy of the residence of God. Five great roads, the senses, 
were laid out, through the surrounding region, the body, 
along which the materials were to be brought with conveni- 
ence, and in abundance ; the most admirable plan was devised 
to keep the roads in thorough repair, and to provide supplies 
for the expeditious and faithful carriers, while artists of singu- 
lar and even inspired skill received, arranged, and applied the 
varied materials to their appropriate use. What a glorious ed- 
ification it would have been, had the magnificent scheme been 
accomplished ! 

It was frustrated. Neither the physical nor moral powers 
of man work out to a happy result. The body creaks and 
jerks, soon wears out, and is thrown aside, useless and ruined, 
into the grave. The soul is taken possession of by the powers 
of evil, is filled with confusion and uproar, and all its pomp 
and circumstance are succeeded by the utmost baseness and 
ruin. 

One of the most marked and fearful proofs of the perverted 
condition of man, is the fact, that to give his nature the reins, 
is to destroy him. Those fiery coursers, the passions, rush 
madly away, like the steeds of the sun, with the inexperienced 
and incompetent Phaeton ; 

NuUoque inhibente, per auras 
IgnotfB regionis eunt ; quaque impetus egil, 
Hac sine lege ruunt, altoque sub athere fixis 
Incursant stellis, rapiuntque per avia currum. 

The unhappy end of a sensualist is written in few words : 
Volvitur in prmceps ! 

Or, to vary the figure, the body soon resembles the Pontine 
Marshes, and the soul, like unhappy Rome, is stifled with the 
pestilential malaria. And, the worst of all is, the soul loves 
to have it so. 

Turning our attention from the individual to society, we see 
the same unhappy tendency and result. No matter what ex- 



oellences distinguish a young and rising nation, it soon gives 
sad evidence of some fatal defect. Intoxicated w^ith success, 
it imagines itself invincible, while, at that very moment, fool- 
ish and treacherous selfishness and demagogueism are betray- 
ing its defences, and are about to ofTer it, an easy prey, to its 
enemies. As the men of the nations, one by one, fail, die, 
and sink into the silence and corruption of the grave, so, the 
nations themselves, one by one, pass away and are no more. 

Decay is the general doom. In vain does each succeeding 
Spring cheer up the blighted grass, cover the destitute trees 
with green leaves, entice the blossoms forth, unfold and re- 
paint the flowers. The Summer sun again fades and withers 
them all. Again the frosts of Autumn blacken them. The 
raging winds of Winter tear them all away as pitilessly as 
,ever. What did they come forth for, but to perish ? 

The very mountains, those huge and seemingly eternal piles, 
with their bases so broad, and their craggy peaks so high! cor- 
rosion is at work even upon them ; and though slowly, is sure- 
ly crumbling them down, and will level them, at last, in the 
highway of that great destroyer, who, in his fearful triumph, 
is to tread down everything under heaven. 

Thus universally the seeds of death have been strown! — 
Since the Creator looked with delight upon his works, and 
pronounced them all GOOD, what a direful change has oc- 
.curred ! There has been a woful departure fiom the original 
plan. God's wise will, with respect to the condition and work- 
ing of his creatures, has been disobeyed, and the course of 
nature is wrong. He created nature in good condition ; then 
rested from his direct, immediate, primary work, and looked 
on, as if to see himself glorified in the progress of the second- 
ary causes which he had so wisely projected. So, Moses: — 
"And God saw (examined) everything he had made, and be- 
hold, it was VERY GOOD!" Geo. 1 : 31. ''Thus the hea- 
vens and the earth were finished, and all the host of them. 
And on the seventh day God ended his work which he had 
made ; and he rested on the seventh day from all his work 
,which he had made. And God blessed the seventh day and 



15 

sanctified it, because that in it he had rested from all his work:, 
which God created and made." Gen. 2: 1,2, 3. Or, rather, 
"which God had created to operate." n^yV a^nSN n-js i^k. It ia 
in conformity with this understanding of the passage, that Mo- 
ses now immediately proceeds to narrate the operation of those 
secondary causes, and to describe to us the disastrous perver- 
sion of God's will. 

The course of nature went wrong, and the curse of God 
came upon it, going into its most secret springs. That was a 
serious error of Cicero, when he wrote, in his beautiful, but 
sophistical treatise, De Senectute, " Omnia vei^o, quae, secun- 
dum naturam fiunt, sunt habenda in bonis." De Senec, 46. 
It was scarcely necessary to enter and shiver among the damp 
shades of Stoicism, to work out this "lame and impotent con- 
clusion." Yet it was with this preparation that he looked 
upon an old man, beyond the joys of youth, beyond the active 
employments of maturity, beyond the moment when 

"The sixth age shifts 
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon ; 
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side j 
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide 
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice. 
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 
And whistles in his sound." 

And in survey of such a scene, could demand, " Quid est 
— tarn, secundum naturaw, quam senibus emori ?" De Senec. 
46. The answer is easy. It is furnished by the same mel- 
ancholy Jaques. It is no more natural for an old man to die, 
than it is for the beautiful, bright-eyed, trusting, cherub-like 
infant, to pass on through the several ages of life, to that ter- 
rible condition in which both body and mind seem to fail, and 
the once gifted and glorious man is now litde more than a clod 
in the process of being dissolved ; and presently it is but a 
clod in one of the streets of the city of life, . and the scaven- 
ger sweeps it to the nearest pile, and carts it away. 

Mr. Calhoun, the pure, great statesman of the south, wrought 
out a similar conclusion, even in this Christian country, and in 
this nineteenth century. He is said to have declared upon his 



16 

death-bed, " I desire nothing contrary to the constitution of 
nature." The language of Paul was : "We that are in this 
tabernacle {the hodxj) do groan, being burdened, not for that 
we would be unclothed, but clothed upon, that mortality might 
be swallowed up of life." 2 Cor. 5 : 4. and he elsewhere 
speaks of death as an enemy, "the last enemy." 

No wonder that he groaned. Nature is wrong. It is full 
of sin, and full of the curse of God. Made to live, it is dy- 
ing. Made good, it is evil. "God cursed the earth for man's 
sake," and the curse was great. Wherever the air is, the 
curse is ; wherever the water is, the curse is ; wherever the dry 
land is, the curse is. The birds meet it in the highest air, the 
fish in the deepest sea, the beasts in the remotest isle, and man 
everywhere. It mingles with the perfume of Summer. It is 
an element in every fruit of Autumn. The beautiful foun- 
tain, gushing from the hill slope, and sparkling in the sun- 
shine, is cursed, diffuses the virus among the grasses and 
flowers of its meadowy banks, and adds its tribute to the mea- 
sureless curse of the bitter sea. The earth is dismal with it, 
freezing, burning, hardening, bursting, gashed with chasms, 
blighted with deserts, terrified with storms. For every storm 
is a memento of the curse. There was no storm while inno- 
cence and Eden remained. Then, "The Lord God had not 
caused it to rain upon the earth, but there went up a mis^from 
the earth, and watered the whole face of the ground." Gen. 
2 : 5, 6. The secondary causes, in their primitive condition, 
were competent to water the whole face of the ground, with- 
out rain or storm. 

But, if this be true, that nature is wrong and cursed, then, 
what of the laws of nature, which all thinking men marvel 
at, and which infidelity would even deify? Why, we may 
well study, and profoundly admire them. They are replete 
with wisdom. Yet, as I have already hinted, they are but a 
penitentiary system. Not one of them can be violated with 
impunity, but, obedience to them all, would not extricate us 
from our prison. By such obedience, we would only escape 
prison punishment — the dread sentence, suspended over us, 
we could not escape. 



17 

Those laws are full of mercy, and give ample witness to 
the goodness, wisdom, and power of the Great Supreme.— 
Still, they confer no pardon. They merely make the well 
behaved prisoner as comfortable as prison discipline will allow, 
while they lash their transgressor as with a whip of scorpions, 
for the sins of his mind, and with disease and pain for the sins 
of his body. 

As to the religion of nature, the Theology learned from the 
condition, laws and facts of nature, it is full of awe, and pain- 
fully unsatisfactory. Dread testimony is there, of the power 
and wisdom of God ; but not one word of hope for the sinful 
and dying; not a whisper explanatory of the fearful secrets of 
the grave. 

Even when aided by obscured traditions, strayed off from 
Revelation, and penetrating through the gloom of heathen 
mythology, Cicero could only go so far as to say, ''Si in hoc 
erro, quod animos hominum immortales esse credam ; luben- 
ter erro : nee mihi hunc errem, quo delector, dumvivo, extor- 
queri volo." De Seme. 54. This is a dim torch, to light one 
through the thick and silent darkness of the grave; but it is 
more than Natural Theology, of itself, can bestow. She stands 
in the horrid cavern, with a sickly taper, and without the utter- 
ance of a single word, points to "a little gas floating in the air, 
a little salts diffused through the waters of the earth, and a 
handful of earthy matter, as being all that remains of the proud 
fabric of man."— Z>r. Good: Book of Nature. 

Gentlemen, through this twilight of my discourse, I have 
tried to fix your attention upon the terrific truth, that nature is 
torong and is cursed. Now let my humble moon come up 
above this dreary horizon. 

Is Education the Development of Human Nature ? Are 
we to understand the term literally, and as signifying E— du- 
cation — the leading out of the human powers ? If so, a 
complete education, under such circumstances, would be the 
greatest possible mischief to the subject of it, and, within (he 
area of his influence, to society. Human nature is the worst 
kind of nature. No other is su malignant, artful, and deadly. 
3 



18 

it is "enmity against God" — t'o ^pov^jixa tTJi aapxh;, £;ti9pa fk ®e6v. 
There is nothing' in the mineral, vegetable, or animal kingdom, 
so bad as that ; no poison so virulent, no malice so deadly. — 
The Upas flourishes above the desert its exhalations have oc- 
casioned. But so terrible is the virus of human nature, that 
it involves itself in the destruction it causes. A triple headed 
viper, which with one head, hisses and strikes at heaven, with 
another, at society, with the other, at itself. What could be 
so horrible as the successful and complete development of such 
a nature? 

Let us, then, understand the case, as an m-ducation — the 
sowing of good seed — the pouring in of sweet and holy pre- 
cepts, by a wise and diligent preceptor. The subject may 
seet7i to he relieved of its horrors. But the nature and condi- 
tion of the soil are at the basis of the just hopes of the far- 
mer. Why cast seed upon sands as sterile as Sahara? Upon 
the everlasting snow of the poles? Upon bare rocks? Among 
choking weeds? And why pour sweet and wholesome fluids 
into a vessel, whose substance and surface are deadly poison? 
He that drinks must die. There is as little hope connected 
with this theory, as with the other. 

The first chapter of Romans, and the pages of Juvenal 
show, that the most horrible condition of society can co-exist 
with the highest condition of letters and science. " The devils 
know," 3^et are they devils still ; the more terrible, because of 
their knowledge. 

Gentlemen, society is writhing in most piteous, spasmodic 
action. The word Reform is heard in every man's mouth. — 
Is there not something within us that responds to all this ? 
And what can that be, but a sense of the evil pressing upon 
us from every direction, and forcing us to hail with interest, 
every promise of relief? Revelation comes to supply this spe- 
cial need of deliverance, explaining to us \is, modus, evidences, 
and results. Would that it were listened to ! We should 
then learn the cause of our distress, and receive the most am- 
ple instructions for our deliverance. But, alas ! we are too 
wise for this. We cry out, let there bo a reform ! a regenera- 



19 

tion ! a reorganization ! and then go to work at the wrong 
place, and in the wrong way. Art, science, rehgion, the fam- 
ily, the state, the church, everything and everybody must be 
reformed and purified. We must have a law against this, and 
a law against that. A stream of bitter and poisoned water 
rolls its tide of death along, and we must bail it out. We rush 
in with our Imo-buckets, work like men, day and night, and 
empty the stream — nearly. What then? Why, the same 
fountains of bitter poison fill it up again, and we are fools for 
our pains. 

Revelation sets before us the only true reformer, Jesus Christ. 
His plan is, to correct the fountains, for the purification of the 
fatal stream of human conduct. His reformation begins in 
the heart; in each man's own heart; and effecting such a 
thorough conversion, that he may be regarded as "a new crea- 
ture ;" the natural enmity to God and virtue having been sub- 
dued, and in its place, love for God, and love for man ; a love 
that "worketh no ill to his neighbor." 

The time of life most appropriate to this great reformation, 
is youth. "Remember now, thy Creator, in the days of thy 
youth." To which corresponds that prime precept of our Sa- 
vior, "Seek j^rs^ the kingdom of God." 

Here, precisely here, is our point. Youth is the time for 
this reformation, this great change; and, it is so, at least in 
great part, because youth is the season for education ; and un- 
less this great change precede, what is education but the de- 
velopment of the worst principle in all nature, enmity to God. 
The skilful training of a slave of the devil, for a more efiicient 
service of his malignant master, is far from being a promising 
work! Shall a hater be supplied with a light and a sword; 
a brilliant light and a keen sword, to be sent out among the 
objects of his malice, but of our love, involved in darkness, 
and without defence? Shall a young tiger come here to have 
this superior faculty teach him how to strengthen his mighty 
muscles, and use his cruel claws and teeth with more murder- 
ous skill? The education of the natural man, is like the 



20 

handling of wrong premises in a skilful argument — the better 
the logic, the worse the conclusion. 

Gentlemen, I take a serious view of this subject. Too se- 
rious, perhaps, for this pleasant hour, and festive occasion. — 
Pardon me. The sun of my life has passed its zenith, and is 
declining fast toward the shades of evening, and the night of 
death ; and I feel as I have never before felt, the vital and 
eternal importance of understanding, in early life, our nature, 
our circumstances, and our destiny. When, at that period, I 
arrived at that awful fork of the road of life, pausing to deter- 
mine which prong I would prefer, Revelation decided my 
choice. But, I may well tremble on thinking of the risk I 
ran. Now, I look toward the close of life with hope, some- 
times with confidence. But, had I made the fatal mistake 
that some here, perhaps, have made, and others here, perhaps, 
are about to make, by this time I should have been confirmed 
in sin ; a fountain of mischief and death to my family and 
acquaintance, and nearly ready to stumble into a hopeless 
eternit}^ It becomes me, then, I think — having made such a 
narrow escape — to be serious, especially when occupied with 
such a subject as the one in hand. 

My object has been, to point out the premises, essential to a 
proper education, to show that the regeneration of the heart 
is the indispensable preparation for the instructions of this just- 
ly honored Faculty ; for the part of true citizens in this great- 
est nation of the earth ; for every position, relation, duty, true 
honor, and true happiness in this life, and for the stupendous 
mysteries of eternity. 

I am, myself, a father; and when I hear that Divine Fath- 
er of us all, saying to that young man approaching this sacred 
institution, "My son, give me thy heart!" I understand the 
tenderness and wisdom of the gracious appeal, to an extent 
that compels me to add, "Do it, my young brother, do it. Do 
it as the first, the paramount duty of thy life !" 

"Blessed is the man that walketh 7iot in the counsel -of the 
ungodly, ?zor standeth in the way of sinners; noi' silteth in 
the seat of the scornful." That is, who denies himself; puts 



21 

a firm and determined negative upon his corrupt nature, o|>- 
posing, checking, defeating its development, 

"But his delight is in the law of the Lord, and in his law 
doth he meditate day and night. And he shall be like a tree 
planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in 
his season; his leaf also shall not wither, and whatsoever he 
doeth shall prosper." — Ps. 1. 

Yes, with this moral change of condition premised, the path 
of increasing and endless prosperity opens before him. This 
able Faculty will, then, have everything to encourage the ap- 
pliance of its well known resources and skill. And when its 
graduate shall take grateful leave, bearing the green palm of 
Collegiate success, it shall rejoice over him, and bless him, and 
have no surprise to mingle with its delight, upon the antici- 
pated tidings of his usefulness and honors, in the pure and 
dignified sphere for which it had prepared him. 

Gentlemen, be pleased to accept my best wishes, and fei- 
vent prayers, for your present and eternal happiness^ 



